


A Cure for Hangovers

by dumbledorkus (captorvatiing)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Smoking, Swearing, and Smooching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captorvatiing/pseuds/dumbledorkus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred left for America years ago to find himself, now he's back uninvited and oh fuck, he's still awesome.<br/>Featuring one not-so-touching reunion, a painful flashback, several bad hangovers and entirely too little coffee for a proper coffeeshop AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cure for Hangovers

 

When Arthur arrived home from his walk the sky was crisp and dark and dotted with fading stars, the bottoms of his trousers were damp with the melting morning frost, and someone had left an obnoxiously well dressed, if a little disheveled, Frenchman on his doorstep. He sighed, ran his hand over his face and readied himself for the stupidity that was going to pour from its mouth.

"Artie!" It cried, jumping up and forcing him into a hug.

He wriggled free, pointedly ignoring the nickname (although it clearly gave Francis great joy to see the little crinkle of disapproval flash across his face) and despairingly stepped back from his own front door. Although he'd looked sharp from a distance up close it was clear that Francis was not his usual preened self. The air around him stunk of smoke, his long hair was escaping from its tie and his clothes were wrinkled and there was a clear wine stain on the cuff of his shirt. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Good god man, don't you have a home to go to?"

"Non." Francis grinned with a shrug, toppling back with an annoying lanky grace to prop himself up on the doorframe with one elbow. "But I'd much rather have a coffee shop to go to."

"It's Sunday. I'm closed." Arthur frowned, attempting to muscle past his friend to no avail.

"Ahh, and your shop is the only one in town mm?"

He hooked an arm expertly through the crook of Arthur's elbow and held it in place with surprising strength. On the icy doorstep it didn't take much to turn the cantankerous englishman  on the spot and begin marching him back into town.  After his initial loud and garbled protests, which were resolutely ignored, he gave in and they walked together in comfortable silence. The birds did enough talking for both of them. Partially hidden by his popped collar Francis wore a little smile and though he would never admit it Arthur felt a kind of reluctant  contentment wash over him as he looked up at the first lights peeking from between curtains in bedroom windows. The town was certainly more pleasant like this. The air was brisk, the grey streets coloured silver by a thin layer of ice and not a single person in sight... and, he supposed, it was far better experienced with a friend.

A little up the road was a cafe, all lit up with soft orange light spilling out from steamed up windows and the muffled noise of clanking trays and raised voices breaking the silence on the street. Finally unhooking his arm from his companion's, Francis stepped confidently over the threshold and stamped non existent snow onto the mat before striding over to the counter, leaving Arthur hovering awkwardly on the doorstep of the unfamiliar shop. Standing in the door, smelling someone elses coffee, listening to the slightly off-pitch hiss of someone elses steamer, made him freeze up as though he was doing something scandalous and forbidden; and seeing Francis chatting to the grumpy young man behind the counter felt supremely wrong. It felt, although the feeling itself was fucking embarrassing and stupid and made Arthur want to put his head under the tea kettle, like he was being cheated on. He took a seat and fiddled with his cuffs, tugging at the strands of his jumper awkwardly until Francis reached over the table and tapped his spoon impatiently on the rim of the mug Arthur hadn’t even noticed was there.

"Good morning Francis," he said with a mocking, stiff, british accent, "Thank you for the lovely coffee. Why," he slipped back into his own seductive drawl, "you are most welcome Angleterre."

"I... Thank you?" Arthur frowned across the table. He shook his head, shaking the charm out of his ears. "Now wait just one second you frog eating bastard, this isn't beauty and the beast, I'm not thanking you for kidnapping me!"

"Ah, you are correct. If this was beauty and the beast you'd be locking me away in _your_ castle." he winked lecherously and Arthur's coffee almost came out of his nose.

They bickered amicably for a while as the sun crept up into the sky. It was almost midday when they ordered their final cups of coffee. Francis was just beginning to sag around the edges, the day was catching up on them and the conversation grew muted and sombre. Francis fidgeted incessantly, twirling a strand of his hair around his finger and avoiding Arthur's gaze.

"Francis...?" Arthur said.

The Frenchman took a huge breath and when he spoke, it was like someone had let all the air out of him at once.

"Arthur…” He tried to sound casual and failed, “He's coming back. He called me from the airport this morning and he'll be in town tomorrow."

"Who?" Arthur frowned.

The air seemed to freeze up. It was almost as if there was no one else in the shop at all. Francis sighed into his coffee and squinted across the table at Arthur with a look of infuriatingly baffling concern. He took a very deep breath before he spoke.

"Alfred." He said.

 _‘Oh.’_ Arthur thought.

The name hit him like a truck. For a second he was almost certain that his heart had stopped and he was completely brain dead. Hell, he didn't even have a brain. All he had was that one word echoing around his cavernous skull. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. It had been years. Francis smiled across at him, winked and flirted, desperately trying to distract his friend from the news but to no avail. Of course, Arthur made every attempt to act like he didn't care, but Francis had known him all his life and was quite familiar with the hidden language of those ridiculous eyebrows. Despite his best efforts to to simulate carefree normality Francis had given up after a particularly prickly lunch date and slunk home to sleep off the nights drinking, leaving Arthur alone. He made a beeline for his local pub, seeking council with the poor mans therapist over a few cold beers, and then headed home on dark, icy streets to try and catch a few hours precious rest before work the next morning. Or rather... at some point in the late evening he'd found himself swaying in his doorway with his keys in one hand and a cigarette in the other and no recollection of leaving the bar he’d stumbled from.

By morning Arthur had rammed all those pesky thoughts back into their little box at the back of his brain, the one all locked up with chains and labeled "Do Not Open Ever" and doused in copious amounts of cheap lager. He'd downed a handful of paracetamol with his tea to numb the throbbing in his head and trudged downstairs to open the shop as usual. It was all standard procedure; Alfred, beer, hangover, rinse, repeat. He'd gotten quite used to it. He'd even gotten used to the part where -

"BONJOUR! SALUT! AHHH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING WE ARE HAVING!"

The door slammed open and Francis burst in, grinning from ear to ear and somehow seeming to make as much noise as humanly possible with every single part of his body... almost enough noise to drown out Arthur's growled protests. He stamped his feet on the mat ( _"It's not even snowing you twat"_ ) and marched across the room to slam his hands down on the counter bell ( _"I'm going to shove that bell up your fuckin-"_ ) whereupon he foolishly ( _"That was deliberate."_ ) fumbled his wallet and sent his change bouncing across the counter, ringing out like little bells on the stone tiles ( _"I  hate you"_ ).

"You are most predictable Arthur." he sighed, leaning over to help pick up the lost pennies. "You know it's rude to ignore a man's calls like that, especially after he's graciously taken you out for coffee."

"I did not want to go out for coffee with you." Arthur grumbled, forcing the change into Francis hands. "Buy your stupid coffee or go away."

"Tsk," he pouted, holding onto Arthur’s hand and  leaning across the counter as far as his long legs would let him to plonk a kiss on the back of it. "So cute, but so mean."

Arthur went a bizarre, blotchy shade of pink and made a frustrated noise that was like a mixture of a kettle about to boil and a dog that's had it's tail trodden on and turned his back on Francis to clean the already spotless espresso machine. Taking the hint, Francis threw himself down into his usual comfy chair across from the till and propped his feet up on the table. He leant back, his hair falling carelessly down his shoulders and began humming a low, sweet tune from  Arthur's old record collection. The clock ticked forward for a minute and the song was interrupted by another frustrated huff and the grumble of the coffee grinder and as the last bars drew to a close a large, hot black coffee was placed gently on the table. Francis looked up with a grin and before Arthur could react he'd grabbed him by the apron strings and tugged, pulling him off balance and toppling him into the chair with him, oh he kicked and wriggled but despite his girlish looks Francis had quite the grip and kept the Englishman pinned, arms trapped at his sides, hands in his lap and his thigh pressed awkwardly against Francis' in the small seat as he tried to at least not be sitting in his bloody lap.

“So, what are you going to say to him?” Francis said, tightening his grip.

Arthur swore and doubled his efforts to escape.

"You can't avoid it forever, mon cher," he said, "You know Alfred is going to come and visit don't you? Have you even written him since he left? I know you've been avoiding his calls."

"How do you?!?" Arthur spluttered.

"Ahh, I do not heartlessly abandon mes amis unlike you." Francis winked playfully, but when he spoke again he was serious. "He misses you, Artie"

"Go away you prat I don't want to talk about it."

"Well good because you don't have time to talk about it. He texted me this morning and he'll be here tout de suite."

"What?!"

Arthur sprang from the chair, knocking the coffee flying. A stream of creative curse words coloured the air as the hot liquid sprayed his trousers, scalding the skin underneath. He scrambled desperately with his apron, his hands, anything he could reach as he hopped backwards into the counter. Conveniently, as is often the way in cheesy romance fiction like this, that was just the moment that Alfred Jones opened the shop door.

Arthur stood frozen, one hand holding a wet cloth to the inside of his thigh, the other making a vulgar gesture at Francis, who was sprawled in the chair clutching his sides with laughter as coffee dripped down from the table between his knees. His cheeks instantly burned. Alfred hadn't changed a bit. Well, he was a little taller and his muscular shoulders damn near filled the narrow doorway of the old shop, and he was wearing a fitted shirt and tie instead of the ridiculous baggy shirts he used to wear... but he was exactly the same. That exact same smile, bright and genuine over perfect straight white teeth, spreading to his blue eyes with such sincerity you felt guilty just looking at him. He’d gained a pair of glasses but he still had that ridiculous cows lick that would never lie flat and that ridiculous jacket… God, he'd grown into it like it was a part of his own body. Arthur still remembered how the supple leather felt when it still hung a little loose over young Alfred's shoulders and how it smelt when the kid flung his scrawny arms around Arthur’s ribs. The American’s familiar laughter rang out like a bell and he crossed the shop in two steps, pulling Arthur into an all encompassing hug.

Yep, just as suspected. The jacket still smelt the same too.

"Arthur! I missed you." Alfred grinned, holding a shocked and slightly damp Arthur at arms length, "Dude, you haven't changed a bit... wait, what...?"

Arthur looked up and confirmed his fear that... yep. Alfred was staring at the stain on his crotch. Well, at least it had taken him this long to notice. He pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to hide the fact that his face was practically glowing with embarrassment.

"Coffee." he mumbled, "You have your good friend behind you to thank for that."

"Friend? Who...? Oh dude, not...?!"

Alfred spun round and spotted Francis for the first time, beaming up at him from the puddle of coffee. All at once his attention was switched and there was hugging and laughing, and the warm busy chatter of two men, no - boys, catching up, giving Arthur a chance to slink back behind his counter and out the back door unnoticed.

He stood with his back pressed against the wall and shakily lit a cigarette. His breath mingled with the smoke and hovered in the air in front of him. Three years. Three damn years and barely a word and now what? It felt like he’d barely been gone a day and it felt like he’d been gone for an age. Arthur remembered how he’d barged into the shop then, his stupid jacket hanging loose over his gangly teenage shoulders, wide eyed and beaming with pride because he’d just booked a flight back to America. The pride had dropped from his face as soon as Arthur had spoken.

He’d tried for weeks to stop him leaving but of course it didn’t work. He didn’t own the boy. Still… he’d rather hoped… He knocked his skull back against the brick wall behind him and scowled at the bins beside him. The door next to him creaked open and Alfred stepped out into the cold, crossing his arms against his chest and leaning silently on the doorframe. Arthur could feel him watching him. He knew he had to say something, but what?

“In America we say hello.” Alfred said.

Arthur damn near leapt a foot in the air. He scowled up at his old friend, but not for long. A smile cracked over his face.

“Well in England we call before we turn up at someone’s house uninvited.” He snarked.

“It’s not your house, it’s a shop.”

“My shop.”

“Your shop?” Alfred beamed. “That’s great!”

Arthur sighed. “Everyone left, even the boss. So now…” He waved his cigarette vaguely.

“Oh.”

“Mmm. Francis keeps telling me I ought to hire someone new but I don’t know. I just…”

 _Really hoped you’d come back._ He thought. No, stop it. He ground his cigarette angrily into the over flowing ashtray on the windowsill. Alfred was looking down at him with a stupid, odd  little look in his eye.

“What?” Arthur snapped.

He leant down, one elbow still casually propped on the door frame, and lifted Arthur’s chin up with one hand. He stared into his green eyes, teeth worrying his lip for a second. It was the same ridiculous look that always crossed his face when he was considering doing something stupid and dangerous. Then, with no warning at all, he jerked Arthur’s head forwards and kissed him full on the lips.

“I really did miss you y’know.” he smiled, pulling back as if nothing had happened. “You could have at least answered my messages.”

With a wink and a salute he’d ducked back into the shop, the bell over the front door jingled and he was gone leaving Arthur frozen in the alley.

\---

**Years earlier**

The coffee machine clicked and whirred and the shop was warm and smelt of coffee and old leather. A buzz of chatter rose around them from sunken arm chairs and worn second hand stools. Arthur stood behind the counter politely serving a growing queue of customers, his voice quiet and steady against the background hum of contented people, his eye flicking occasionally to the clock.

He was starting to grumble when Alfred  burst through the door, late but beaming from ear to ear. His jacket was dotted with snow and his too big jeans were soaked up to the knee. He skidded through the shop, stripping layers as he went, his wet sneakers squeaking on the tiles. Apologies exploded from his mouth, to the girl he almost ran down in his rush, to the man who almost got a grubby sleeve dunked in his coffee, to the door frame that he smacked his knee right into (to his credit, he did not swear like Arthur would have). He hopped behind the counter, clutching his knee with one hand and attempting to tie his apron with the other, and barrelled straight into Arthur who laughed and steadied him.  Alfred immediately busied himself with the queue of customers and it was like something had been lifted from the air. Everyone loved the boy’s boisterous charm. He was like a caffeine kick in the flesh., and he served every single customer with a toothy grin and a thank you ma’am, winking at the pretty girls and saluting all the men. Arthur dropped comfortably behind him, as always, unnoticed and completely captivated.

Alfred was buzzing, but it wasn’t until the last few customers had filed back off to work, and the shop had quietened down to just the few lay about regulars that they got a chance to properly talk. It started off fine, just Alfred nattering about his morning and Arthur smiling and making sarcastic comments as usual, but then…

“...So I booked a flight! I’m gonna go see ‘em, all my old friends, or, uh, mates? Yeah! Mates.” Alfred was beaming from ear to ear. He looked so proud of himself for organising his trip all by himself. “My uncle says he can get me a job and everything. Isn’t that great?”

The question hung in the air between them like a swarm of wasps. Arthur blinked.

“...You… You did what?!”

“I booked a... ”

“No.” Arthur shook his head, “No, you’re not going.”

There was a stunned silence between them. Alfred stood just short of arms length from his friend and held his chin up. This was his adventure, him carving out his own future and he didn’t need permission from anyone. He refused to let anyone take his excitement away. ‘Come on Al,’ he thought, ‘you’re ready for this, just like you planned’. And he tried, oh bless, he tried to think of something impressive, something he could say to assert his authority but instead he blinked and laughed. There was a second where the atmosphere between them felt like glass breaking in slow motion, but with his laugh the glass clattered to the ground and the tension was broken.

“For real!” he grinned, unpacking that easy charm and shaking of the awkward moment like it was dry snow, “It’s unbelievable right?”

Arthur laughed uncertainly and adjusted his tone, “You’re not actually going?” he snorted, an affected smile plastered on his face. “You’re a fucking idiot Alfie you know that don’t you?”

“Uh… yeah dude! It’s totally legit...”

It didn’t take long for them to drop right back into the old rapport but Arthur’s sarcastic comebacks had a little twinge of venom to them for the rest of the day.  The air between them was still thick and there was a quiver hidden in the line of Arthur’s shoulders that betrayed his true feelings. It was only when Francis barrelled into the store, pink cheeked and complaining loudly about the date he’d just been on that they were both spared each others company.

\---

It was getting late, the sky was already dark and the shop was completely empty. Or rather, Arthur thought the shop was completely empty until the light flicked back on behind him and he damn near crapped his pants. For a brief moment he entertained the idea that this was how he was going to die, startled and impaled on a sharpened coffee stirrer by a serial killer who couldn’t see in the dark. That was until he saw Alfred stood by the switch grinning over his glasses like a serial killer who couldn’t see in the dark. It was so unbelievably stupid and terrifying that Arthur was stunned into silence. Question marks hung in the air and Alfred plopped himself down on an armchair, just to really ram home the Bond villain image. Arthur damn near punched himself in the eye he facepalmed so hard. He’d barely opened his mouth to insult the idiot when he was interrupted.

“Sit down, I want to talk to you.” Alfred said, gesturing to the seat opposite him.

Gosh. He was trying so hard to be serious but it didn’t suit him. Arthur stared at Alfred and was immediately struck by the intensity in his eyes. His hackles rose and he refused to take the seat.

“So you break into my shop and then you start bossing me around? I don’t think-”

“Technically I didn’t break in.” Alfred said. “I need to talk to you.”

Arthur sighed. They’d never been particularly good at talking. It had only happened once or twice, and it hadn’t exactly been civil conversation. It had been shouting and heightened emotions; insults and accusations… and it had never ended well. The chances of this going well, despite whatever maturity Alfred thought he’d found across the sea, were limited. But they definitely needed to clear the air if they were to be forced into each other’s company again. With a heavy sigh Arthur gave in.

“I’ll make tea.” he mumbled.

When there was a steaming pot of England’s finest between them Arthur took a seat and a delicate sip from his cup. Alfred took a deep breath and fidgeted with his glasses. He straightened up, opened his mouth and said;

“Basically I’m not leaving until you admit that you miss me.”

“What if I didn’t miss you?” Arthur said.

“Ohhh, you missed me, I know it. I just want you to admit it.”

Okay, so Arthur hadn’t actually meant to drop his cup into the saucer quite so hard but in hindsight he appreciated the effect. He scowled across the table at the grown up brat in front of him.

“Did it occur to you that if I’d missed you I would have called?”

He didn’t hiss it, but he may as well have. Icicles hung from ever exaggerated syllable. Alfred actually flinched, and his entire face fell like a puppy that had just had its tail stomped on. Arthur immediately regretted it, but damned if he was going to admit that to the headstrong bastard.

“Or,” he continued, “that there were other reasons I didn’t want to see you? You realise that you left me completely in the lurch with no one but that asshole Francis to keep me company? And I know you were telling Neeraja how great it was not being tied down by a miserable old man like me. He left, just like you. Everyone wanted to be just like you, ugh. I just wanted to look out for you, to keep you out of trouble. But no you had to run off and get yourself into trouble looking for… for freedom and adventure and god knows what.”

Alfred’s mouth had fallen open in  shock and his eyes were crestfallen, but Arthur couldn’t stop himself. It was all coming out like word vomit.

“Sometimes you wouldn’t write for weeks, what was I supposed to think then? I hear all this gossip about you going off, pissing people off, trying to be some kind of hero… I was so worried at first. I was so… so angry! But I made peace with Francis and I saved the shop and I thought maybe I’d be okay until you… Turning up out of the blue and kissing me? Do you have any regard for how I feel about you, you great incon-”

Oops. Arthur slammed his hand to his mouth but it was too late.

“How you feel about… me?” Alfred blinked.

“Fuck off.” Arthur grumbled, his face turning an impressive shade of red.

A grin was spreading across Alfred’s face. “You… feel like… maybe you missed me?”

“I hate you.” Arthur huffed.

Alfred was beaming from ear to ear. He leapt out of his chair and wrapped himself around Arthur. Arthur buried his head in Alfred’s jacket.

“I bloody fucking hate you.” he mumbled.

“Its not what I came for but I’ll take it!” Alfred grinned.

He lifted Arthur’s face out of his jacket and kissed him. It wasn’t like the over assured peck they’d had the other day. This was kissing with purpose. It was a laugh, it was an apology, it was clashing teeth and hands tangled in each others hair and clothes and saliva mixing on each other’s lips. It was everything back how it was supposed to be.

“I still hate you.” Arthur grumbled between kisses.

Alfred laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Neeraja aka India, if my history is correct, would have been the first country to declare independence after America.


End file.
